The Broken Word
by winterimperfect
Summary: Sherlock is approached by a DI of another precinct to help in a serial killer case. The case seems simple until John appears to soon be in danger as the next victim. Johnlock. Note: While this does have Bella and I in it, we are in no way romantically with the characters, we're just characters in it, so don't think this is one of those.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. I'm Ash. This was actually Bella's idea but in the end I'm the one who ran off with it. I'm not embellishing myself, you can ask Bella and anyone who knows me, I'm like that.**

**Do enjoy, and please review. (Or I will flay you, mwahahha.. kidding.)**

The Broken Word

by Ash Winters

Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes was roused early in the morning by his phone vibrating. He hadn't had a case in weeks and the boredom was driving him mad. He quickly sat up and snatched the mobile, checking the text.

**Is this Sherlock Holmes? I was informed you could help me with**

**a possible serial killer case.**

**Please come to the address I will send after your confirmation and**

**ask for DI Winters.**

**-AW**

"Peculiar." He murmured, replying to the text. A smile crawled across his face as his eyes sparkled to life. He leapt from his bed and hurried up the stairs to John's room where he shook him awake.

"John. Case. You're coming. Be ready in ten minutes." Sherlock said in a rush to a sleepy-eyed John Watson.

"What? Where? Alright. Getting up." He muttered, wishing to just roll over and go back to sleep.

Sherlock had already left, rushing back to his room to get ready, so John sleepily got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a dress shirt before pulling on a jumper to keep himself warm in the early morning.

He made his way downstairs to see Sherlock eating some toast at the table, a plate with toast sat opposite of him in wait of John. The brunette nearly scarfed his food down in his excitement, staring intently at John as if wishing for him to speed up his eating process.

Once breakfast was finished, Sherlock all but pushed him out of the house and into a waiting cab where he quickly gave the address and sat back as the cab began it's lengthy journey to the other side of London.

"So, what is the case to get you so excited?" John yawned out, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"A possible Serial killer. You know it's something when Lestrade gives my number to another DI from another precinct." Sherlock sniffed but couldn't hide the utter glee in his eyes.

When they pulled up to the crime scene, Sherlock had to shake John awake for the other had dozed off shortly after they left. They left and soon found themselves confused at a lack of body.

"Excuse me, can you find... DI Winters?" Sherlock asked an officer standing by the line, having opened his phone to double check the name.

"I'm right here."

Sherlock turned around and tried to find the source of the voice.

"For the love of... Down here, I'm not **that** short."

Sherlock glanced down to see a pale short man with long red-chestnut colored hair, wearing a dress shirt, black slacks, a green scarf and a long overcoat much like his own, glaring up at him before flashing a badge, "I'm DI Winters. I take it you're Mr. Holmes? DI Lestrade told me you would be more help for this case."

"I definitely would be. So, if this is a serial killer case, where's the body?" He sniffed, disappointment obvious in his eyes as he looked around.

"I actually saved what would be body number four. I had just come out from dinner at the restaurant over there when I heard a commotion and saw a woman being forcefully dragged towards a car. I rushed forward and broke them up, the guy took off. There were two men in the car. I couldn't see one very well due to it being dark and their car being dark grey, but the one who was dragging the female was tall, dark short hair and wearing a peacoat. I'd have to say businessman."

Sherlock cocked a brow, "Why would you say businessman?"

"While I didn't catch his face, I saw his hand pretty close up as it met my face. It had ink stains on it, the kind from a pen. Don't give me that look, some people still write down notes and numbers by hand these days. It wasn't just that, before he took off I saw a briefcase in the backseat and his overall demeanor really screamed businessman. You know you can just **tell**."

"Did you catch the car?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock who nodded his ascent to the question.

"It was a Vauxhall Astra, I'd say four year old model, dark grey. Once again, screams businessman. Do you want to speak to the witness now? She's twenty-four year old Bella Stover." DI Winters asked, gesturing behind himself to where a person sat wrapped in that hideous orange blanket.

"Yes." Sherlock replied, walking off in the direction of the witness before John put a hand on his arm.

"Sherlock. I think I should question her. You have a bit of a habit of scaring them. How about I start and gesture you over if I think she's ready?" John asked, looking towards the still trembling woman.

The brunette gave him a sour look before sighing, "Fine. I won't get anything out of her if she's sobbing at me."

John nodded and made his way over to the witness. Bella had long wavy brown hair; her jacket was obviously torn during the scuffle. She had on black shirt, dark blue jeans and tall brown boots covering part of her pant legs.

"I'd like to ask you some questions."

"S…sure." She stuttered out.

"Can you tell me what happened?" John asked.

"I was walking home and this man h…he came up to me and just grabbed me! As I struggled to get out of his grip he grabbed my coat." She stopped, took a deep, shuttering breath before continuing, "He was dragging me and next thing I knew someone stopped him."

"Did you notice any tattoos, or marks on him?"

"No." Bella said. She saw a tall brunette next to the man that saved her, she looked back at John.

"But he wore a cologne similar to the man who saved me. Not the same, but similar." She murmured, before looking to the side.

Sherlock glanced down at the short detective and raised a brow, "I wear Bleu de Chanel. What he was wearing really did smell similar, I can attest to it. It's either another Chanel cologne or a knock off version of Bleu."

"Can you show me where this happened exactly and maybe explain the connection between murders and this?" Sherlock asked. The DI nodded and began walking towards an alley at a brisk pace, though Sherlock walked at his normal pace due to the others brisk walking was a regular pace to him with the height difference.

"She was being dragged in this direction, the car was parked here. Here's a picture of the number plate, I ran the number but it's a rental. Figures." The DI sighed, having shown him a blurry photo on an Iphone of a dark grey car.

"You got the numbers from that blurry photo?" Sherlock muttered, squinting at it.

"No. I remembered it. I typed it down before I could forget."

The brunette nodded before crossing his arms and staring at the small DI, whom nodded and leaned against the wall across from him.

"There's been a series of serial rape and murders across London, always young girls on their way home from work or having fun with friends. Usually brunettes but on occasion blondes. There's been three confirmed deaths associated with this serial killer, but we have two more that might be him as well. Before meeting him I suspected the killer to be a middle-aged, short man with low income who needed something for thrills, but it's someone much younger, wealthy and versatile. Not very smart, but still able to elude the police. He kills them via asphyxiation with regular, run of the mill rope, commits an act of necrophilia and from my own personal experiments, I can only assume keeps them around in a fridge to continue abusing their body. We've found one body with several different deteriorating semen samples. Same man, but different days. Yeah, it's pretty gross." The DI muttered, shrugging.

"You interested in the case? If not I'll just continue on my own I guess. I'm not as smart as you. I have heard of you before and approve your methods. Just keep me informed, I do so ever love the chase."

Sherlock nodded and watched the DI smile before he left. Once the other was out of sight, he let a grin slide across his face and held back the urge to dance. This was _very_ interesting.

"John!" He barked out, startling the smaller man whom was still talking with the witness. "Much to do, come along."


	2. Chapter 2

**I drew myself, I'm so vain... Anyway, if you go on my profile there is a link to my dA gallery. Go there to see the art ouo**

**Please, R&R!**

The Broken Word

by Ash Winters

Chapter 2

The next morning found John and Sherlock at the dining table, munching on toast and each looking at their respectful laptops, cruising the news for any information possible pertaining to the case.

"Nothing really interesting. The lack of detail and wording just shows that the murders are by the same person. No real details at all... I would need to see the bodies but most have been cremated or buried. Without a body I can't get more information on this bloody case." Sherlock muttered, slamming the top of his laptop down before he finished off his tea and toast.

Just as he was reaching for his violin, his mobile vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to read the text.

**Vauxhall was found with matching number plate next to Kew Bridge.**

**-AW**

Sherlock stared at his phone, perplexed. Why the hell would he care if they found the bloody car. No crime was committed, no need for him to be there.

**I don't care. Has nothing to do with me.**

**-SH**

He pocketed his mobile and once again reached for his violin when it once again vibrated. He pulled it out and glared at the message.

**Body found in river, seems to be murder. Thought it would interest you.**

**-AW**

Sherlock cocked a brow at his phone. Just because it was murder didn't mean it would interest him. Just as he went to reply the mobile buzzed once again, this time to state there was an incoming call.

He didn't even have time to mutter a greeting when the lilted voice snarled out, "He was bludgeoned to death and there is no murder weapon anywhere near here. There is no sign of another person. Interesting enough?"

Sherlock once again went to reply but was cut off with, "Did I mention there seems to be poison?"

Sherlock closed his mouth and muttered, "We'll be there," before closing his mobile and looking at John expectantly, whom studied him with a raised brow.

"Did you just get bullied into going to a crime scene?"

"It would appear so... Do get dressed John, the little man is expecting us."

–

"About bloody time."

Sherlock ignored the DI and made his way to the car and studied the ground around it before making his way to the side of the river where the body was face down. His brows pinched before he looked over at the DI, "It's obvious there were two people. Why did you lie?"

"You wouldn't have come otherwise."

"The poison was a lie too, wasn't it?"

"Obviously."

John stared between the two as they glared at each other and Sherlock brushed passed him and towards the waiting taxi, "Let's go, John, no need to be here."

Sherlock hadn't even gotten past the police line when a strong hand grabbed his forearm and tugged him back forcefully, "I still want you to look, I think it has to do with the serial killer and all leads are needed. I didn't call you here for a romp, I seriously need your assistance with it. So what if I had to lie to get you here."

Sherlock got into Winter's face, bending down to do so, "Every time you open your mouth I trust you less and less. If you want my assistance, don't play me like a fool. I already knew you were lying."

"Duly noted. Now, will you please go do your thing? I can tell that there was a scuffle that ended with the body being dragged and dumped badly in the river, but I can't find any evidence or the murder weapon. That's why I called you."

Sherlock snorted and stood up before walking down to the riverbank and towards the bridge where he bent down and pulled over a piece of a metal beam. John could tell it was no lightweight and it was quite heavy. There was obvious blood all over it and John couldn't help but wonder how Winters had missed it.

"Whomever did this was very strong, right handed and shorter than the assailant, I'd say about two inches shorter." Sherlock murmured, "He beat the guy at the car until he was unconscious, dragged him to the river bank, picked this beam up from over there," Sherlock pointed to a grassy area that had pieces of metal dumped around it, "Brought it here, hit the guy repeatedly in the head and threw it at the bridge to hide it. This serial killer, if it is him, is very strong."

Winters nodded, hand on his chin as he eyed it. "Bag and tag it." He muttered to the forensic crew on standby whom hurried forward and removed the beam, albeit with great difficulty due to it's weight, and wrapped it with plastic and a tag.

"Don't you need pictures?" John asked, walking forward to eye the DI whom was staring at the river.

"No need, it's not like you see on the telly you know."

Sherlock stared at the other before walking past him and snagging John's wrist, "Let's go."

**I am _such_ an ass. Haha... Don't worry, I won't be like that all the time.. or will I?**


	3. Chapter 3

The Broken Word

by Ash Winters

Chapter 3

It had been a week and a half since they heard from the strange DI and Sherlock was hoping that was the last he was going to hear from him. The consulting detective was standing by the window playing his violin. While he was glad to be rid of that lying man, he hadn't had a case since and it was slowly driving him insane.

He was in the middle of writing down an original composition when his phone vibrated. His brows pinched as he saw it was from Lestrade, secretly hoping it was for a new case. He hit talk and brought it to his ear, nearly immediately bringing it away as he heard screaming on the other end along with what sounded like an army.

"What the devil is going on there?" Sherlock asked, looking at John, whom was seated in an armchair reading a book, in a perplexed manner.

"Sorry, we were subduing Winters." Lestrade replied with a tiresome sigh.

"Why are you calling me?"

"It's the serial killer case. The bastard got Winters partner."

"His partner?" Sherlock murmured, never recalling a partner on the scene.

"Yes, DS Jean Dubois. He was his partner in more ways than one if you catch my drift." Lestrade replied, obviously distracted as the screaming slowly came to an end.

"Good, he passed out. We need you on this case, we need to get this bastard now before he kills more of us." Lestrade then relayed the location to him and hung up.

Sherlock stared out the window, deep in thought and muttering to himself. John stared on in confusion, nearly jumping as the other turned his head quickly and stared into his eyes, "Let's go."

John quickly got up and rushed to get ready, not used to seeing his partner so stricken. "What happened?" John asked as he shoved his feet into his shoes, hoping the other would answer him for once.

"DS Dubois, Winters lover and work partner it seems, was murdered."

John's heart stilled, never wanting to even imagine such grief as that. He said nothing as they made their way down the stairs and out into the street.

* * *

They exited the taxi in silence and made their way to the crime scene. The stench in the air nearly made John recoil, not having smelled such a strong odor in a long time.

After passing past the police tape and making their way to the body, Sherlock and John both hovered over the body, taking in the brutal, mangled form of what used to be a man. There was barely anything left of him, his body looking like it'd been through a woodchipper.

"Oh, god." John whispered, trying to push past the fact this was once a human and looking at the body in a professional manner to help as much as he could, but with the amount of damage done to it, he really had nothing to go on. Sherlock also stood up after touching here and there with his gloved fingers, a frown on his normally stoic features.

"Where's Winters?" John asked Lestrade after the other had come up to talk to Sherlock. The DI gestured towards an ambulance where he could just make out the small form wrapped in that infuriatingly obnoxious blanket.

John made his way over while Lestrade and Sherlock talked quietly amongst themselves over the body. He studied Winters for a short while before stepping forward and placing a comforting hand on the others shoulder. The brunette tilted his head slightly and stared up at John, his green eyes surrounded by red from the tears shed.

"I would ask if you're all right, but I know you're not. I won't tell you everything will be fine, but if you need a shoulder I'm here, all right?" John said quietly, waiting for any response from the obviously tranquilized man.

What he wasn't expecting was for the other to fall forward, slamming his head into the blonde's stomach before sobs racked the small form. John looked around but no one else was near so he just smiled sadly and wrapped his arms around the man, letting him cry out his anger, sadness and frustration at his loss. He was taken aback a bit when he swore he heard a whispered, "Je le tuerai."

He didn't quite understand French, but knew Sherlock was fluent in it. He'd ask him later, but for now he would comfort the poor man. He moved forward a bit so that the others back wouldn't be so curved and just held him, petting his head and looking up at the cloudy sky. Fitting.

–-

Sherlock finished studying the surrounding area and was making his way to John when he saw the other just fall into his arms. He stared on, puzzled, as he felt a searing sensation in his chest and felt anger bubbling. He didn't understand this emotion and stared on, brows knitted firmly together as he contemplated this foreign feeling. What was it?

Jealousy? Is this what jealousy felt like? It was a feeling he never felt and it was the first that sprang to mind. But what was he jealous of? He didn't care about that manipulative brat, so what was bugging him?

After a few minutes his eyes widened slightly as he took in John sighing and looking up at the sky with a sad expression.

It was John. He didn't want that bastard touching John.

Intent on breaking the two apart, he made his way over.

"John?"

The blonde turned to look at him, a questioning look in his gaze as he took in the fire dancing in the fierce, pale eyes of his companion.

"What is it?" John asked, loosening his grip on the short man as if he felt guilty for being seen in such a manner.

"We have things to do and I need your input. Come along." Sherlock said crisply before turning his back on the two and striding in the opposite direction.

"I have to go, Winters. Here, this is my mobile number," John whispered, pushing his business card into the thin hand, "Call me if you need to talk. I'm no therapist, but I am willing to listen, all right? We can go to coffee and just talk to get your mind off it if needed, okay?"

Winters stared numbly at the card before nodding, smiling slightly at the blonde before pulling the blanket closer and curling in on himself. John smiled sadly and turned to leave, hurrying after Sherlock whom was a block away by now.


End file.
